


A Kiss for Luck (And We're on Our Way)

by Mayori



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Gen, Magical Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester goes to Ilvermorny, Self-Indulgent, Should be canon-compliant, Wizard Sam Winchester, did i mention self-indulgent?, except Sam isn't raised by the Winchesters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-09-27 03:58:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17154872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mayori/pseuds/Mayori
Summary: When Sam is ten years old, he is accidentally separated from his family. Almost mauled and killed, he is picked up by the new Head of Magical Law Enforcement, Mellissa Crowe.





	1. Chapter One

 

_January 30 th, 1993_

“Sammy!”

Sam ignored Dean’s angry demand and continued to run out of the motel room and into the dark streets. He rubbed his wet face with the palm of his hand, but immediately regretted it when his cheek began to throb in retaliation.

It hurt. God, it hurt so badly.

“Sam! Come back here now, Sam!”

The young boy ignored his father too, and began to run faster. His eyes began to sting, and he let out a loud, wet sob escape his throat.

“It’s not fair!” He screamed back towards them, and he could hear his older brother running after him. Coming closer to him.

“You never listen to me!” Sam continued, crying and continuing to run. Dean was closer now – if Dean caught him, then he’d be punished for leaving the room without permission.

He didn’t want to be punished. He didn’t want to be here.

Sam cried, and wished there was more distance between them. He looked at the tree line in front of him, and suddenly he was no longer running in the street. He stumbled and barely managed to stop himself from running into a tree.

The young boy looked around and shivered, surprised and scared at the same time.

He was now inside the forest.

The small brown haired boy took a couple of steps backwards, and looked up at the tall, looming trees that surrounded him. Every tree seemed to be cross with him, angrily rustling their leaves at him. How did he get here? He was just running in the street just now, so how did he go from there to here?

“Dean?” He called out, forgetting his fear and anger as his short arms wrapped around himself. This place, dark and empty, was so cold. Even his warm, throbbing cheek was cold. “Dad?”

He heard a shuffling sound near him and he stilled for a moment. His shaking lips parted, and he managed to stutter out, “Who’s there?”

Sam waited a moment. Then another, but no one came out and there was no sound. It was as if he had imagined the sound. The young boy contemplated his options – he could follow the sound, or stay where he was and wait for Dean or Dad to show up.

Like a stinging reminder, his cheek ached.

The tree branches shook and to Sam it looked as if the trees had joined together and were glaring down at him. He shuddered again and made his decision, turning towards the bushes where the sound come from and walked towards it.

“Hello?” He said, as he broke through the thick foliage that kept him hidden from whatever had made the sound. He took a couple of steps forward. “Is anyone here?”

For a moment, it was as if the whole world had stopped. Sam couldn’t breathe, couldn’t hear, and he couldn’t see anything beyond the empty clearing in front of him. But it was a moment, and it passed like all moments. Because the world began to turn again, and with that turn, Sam knew pain. It was like nothing he ever felt before; the pain was white-hot, all consuming. Then, it was suddenly cold – very cold, and with some agony, he could feel something being drained out from his side. Something warm and wet and heavy.

There was a disturbing screech in the air, and it took him a while to realize that it was coming from him. Somehow, through the dizzying fog of pain, his throat had managed to work out a scream of pain. But he had to stop – screaming made him lose what small focus he had.

He could see a hairy creature approach him, a silvery white being that was built like an ape but with the jaws of a wolf. Its jaws opened wide to reveal a seemingly endless set of yellowing fangs, and the beast growled at him.

There were bits of red saliva still leaking from its open mouth, and Sam knew that it was coming for a second bite. 

“No!” He managed. He wanted it far away from him, he wanted Dean, he wanted his father – he wanted something to come and push it far, far away from him.

The creature let out a screech as it was suddenly flung off its hunched legs and slammed into a nearby tree. It tried to stand up again, but whatever force had pushed the creature away kept it down. Sam watched through the haze of pain as the creature whined, and continued to try to push itself up.

He blinked out tears and tried to breathe in deeply, but his chest felt as if he had swallowed a stack of needles and he whimpered in pain, closing his eyes and pushing himself to his other side, away from the beast.

Sam didn’t need to see it to know that the creature had managed to win against the force that was keeping it down. He could hear it lumbering its heavy body towards him.

He could feel its warmth surround him as it hovered over him, could feel the _drip-drip_ of its saliva as it hit him in the face but still he did not open his eyes. He closed them tighter and tried to ignore the pain that radiated from his middle, and waited for the end.

The ten years old felt horrible. If he knew he was going to die today, he wouldn’t have argued with Dean about today’s school lunch, he wouldn’t have fought with his father about having to move, having to leave his friends behind again.

“No!”

Suddenly, Sam felt a gust of air shoot out from behind him and the creature was blown away. He wanted to open his eyes, to see what was going on. But he was too cold and too tired to do anything of such sort.

“Take care of it, now!” The same voice exclaimed, and he heard several footsteps shoot out from behind him, side stepping him and running to where he felt the air take the beast away.

“Yes, Madam!”

Sam felt himself being lifted into a soft embrace, and he was wrapped in something woolen and long. The voice, a woman, he realized, began to speak to him; hushed and kind and comforting.

“Don’t cry, my sweet child – you’re safe now.” The voice said, and the woman began to rock him back and forth. Then, in a loud voice that was clearly not intended for him, she said, “Restrain the creature and do with it what you will – I am taking the boy to President Wilkinson’s!”

Sam didn’t really understand what she was saying, as he felt the world constrict around him, pushing him inside a small box and squeezing his insides until it felt as if they were going to burst.

He tried to cry out, to protest but he couldn’t – it was too much.

Finally, the pain disappeared and Sam willingly sank into the comforting embrace of unconsciousness.

*

“What the hell happened to the kid?” A Healer asked as he practically ripped the child out of Mellissa’s arms. He gently placed the boy on the stark white bed and the young woman watched with a sort of horrified fascination as he bled on the bedsheets.

Still, she turned her head away when the Healer began to cut through her thick coat and the boy’s tattered shirt to reveal the gaping wound on his side. She had only come to this raid on a whim, an insurmountable longing for past freedoms – she hadn’t expected to see this.

She forced herself to answer, “He was attacked by an escaped Hidebehind that an illegal circus was keeping as an act. When we broke them up, the ringleader set it free to cover his escape.”

“And the boy survived?” The Healer asked, even as he began to wave his wand in complex patterns that Mellissa recognized as a healing spell. He was attempting to staunch the bleeding, she realized.

“He’s a wizard,” She said, trying to explain the impossible occurrence. Most No-Majs died within seconds of meeting the predator, and not even wizards could manage to survive such an attack. “I came upon him just as his magic stopped restraining the Beast.”

“He’ll need blood-replenishing potions.” She added immediately, twitching where she was standing. “And he’ll need—”

“Anti-inflammatory, anti-infective potions and an Antidote to Hidebehind venom, I know.” The Healer cut her off, turning to face her. “I am a Healer, Ma’am.”

She swallowed down a rude reply and made her way towards the young boy, wordlessly conjuring a seat and sitting next to the bed. If it weren’t for the pink bedsheets and the blood staining his side, she would never have guessed that he was hurt.

“You’ve done a good job,” She reluctantly told him. Then she explained further, “It’s very clean.”

The Healer didn’t reply, and Mellissa didn’t expect him to. She watched as he pulled out a thin needle that was connected to a tube, which in turn was attached to an empty, clear bag. The bag was hanging from a rod that had wheels, and Mellissa wondered what the Healer was planning to do with that contraption. The man placed the needle on a table near the bed and began to fill the bag with potions.

He then brought the needle and dragged the rolling rod towards the bed. He raised the needle and attempted to press it into the inside of the boy’s elbow, but Mellissa caught his hand before he could do so.

“What are you doing?” She asked him, partly surprised by the searing need she felt to protect the boy, and partly suspicious of the Healer and his large needle.  

“This is an IV – the No-Maj have been using it for years to deliver necessary liquids to patients, and the Board of Healers have found it to be an excellent way to safely deliver potions to patients. Now will you let me do my job?”

Slowly, she removed her hand from his wrist. He had no reason to lie, and his job was to help the boy get better. What reason did he have to hurt the boy?

But she watched him like a hawk, observing how he prodded around the boy’s elbow before he finally sunk the needle in. She hissed in sympathy as small droplets of blood appeared around the wound, but no more followed it.

The potion began to travel its way towards the needle, and into the boy.

“I am starting him on a cocktail of blood replenishing potions and an antidote for the venom.” He explained, apparently unfazed by her wary stare. “Once he has recovered enough blood, I will introduce the anti-inflammatory and anti-infective potions.”

“Before. You used to vanish potions into the patient. Why stop that now?” She asked. Mellissa vividly remembered the uncomfortable feeling of having similar potions vanished into her stomach a couple of years ago when she was admitted to President Wilkinson’s Hospital herself.

“Some Healers were terrible at it.” He explained, throwing away the rubber gloves he had put on the moment he saw Mellissa coming in with the boy. “Besides, the body absorbs the potions better this way so it negates the need for a second batch, it’s efficient and economical.”

“Are there any side effects?”

“No.” The Healer said quickly, but then he frowned and continued to speak, “Well, none other than the side effects associated with the potions themselves – it’s really like drinking it.”

“Except no one I know drinks from their arm.” Mellissa quickly snapped.

“Well you don’t know many kinds of people then,” The Healer replied, and the young woman had to resist the urge to punch the nameless man on the face, but she restrained herself. Instead, she pulled out her wand and cast several cleaning charms on the boy, watching with no little satisfaction as the blood disappeared. She looked at the ruined shirt and decided against fixing it – it was too ruined, and it was probably ratty in its original state.

She pulled the covers around him, careful not to jostle the boy’s right arm and sighed in satisfaction once she determined that he was as warm as she could expect him to be in his current state.

Just in case, she cast several warming charms on the blanket itself.

“Huh.” The Healer said after she finished. As he spoke, the young woman detected some uncertainty in his voice. “You know the boy?”

Mellissa’s eyebrows joined together. “No, no… today is the first time I’ve ever seen him.”

“Huh.” The Healer repeated. Then, he pulled out his wand and summoned a clipboard towards him, as well as a self-writing pen. “Can I ask for your name? And the boy’s name, if you know it – I need both for my report.”

“I don’t know his name; he was too injured to reveal it to me.” She revealed, raising a hand to push a stray hair away from the brown-haired boy’s face. Her hand paused as she took in the purpling bruise on the boy’s face. She looked up and faced the Healer directly. “My name is Mellissa Justicia Crowe.”

“Mellissa Crowe? Head of Magical Law Enforcement Crowe? Daughter of Angel Crowe?” The Healer asked, even as the pen wrote down her name.

“Yes, what of it?” Mellissa asked with no little annoyance. She did not understand the people’s constant desire to ask her stupid questions about her job or her identity. What right did they have to judge her?

The red-haired Healer surprised her with his nonchalant shrug. “Nothing. I was told you were young for your position, I just didn’t think you’d be twenty.”

“I am twenty five!” She said, indignant at his mistake. “And I became the Head because I was the most qualified person available!”

“And being the daughter of the Director of Magical Security helped, I am sure.” The Healer said with no inflection.

 Mellissa bit into the inside of her lip, and tasted blood. Her fist tightened around her wand, and she could feel the wooden grip press back against her palm.

She could not fight here, she reminded herself.

This is not the first time someone accused had her father of favoritism, and it won’t be the first time someone doubted her abilities and qualifications. No one knew what she was capable of, and everyone assumed that her father had given up his position as Head to her out of nepotism.

She was untested, and she’d prove the world right about her if she started fighting everyone who accused her of weakness.

Mellissa pushed her wand back into the holster she kept around her wrist, and settled herself into the chair. Deliberately ignoring the Healer, she closed her eyes and began to practice her Occlumency exercises, breathing deeply to clear her mind of any and all thoughts.

She will remain here, and she will maintain vigil until he awoke.

*

Dean didn’t understand how his day could wind up so horribly.

It started off pretty good. He skipped school with Laura Thorn and spent the school day sitting under the bleachers with her, smoking and kissing. Then, he picked up Sammy and they had a good lunch at the diner near their motel – Jenna, the waitress, had given them an extra slice of pie when Sammy asked.

But then, their father stumbled into their motel room, bringing in the smell of smoke and kerosene with him as he did so. And then, the inevitable happened; Dad and Sammy began to fight about having to leave town. Dean didn’t understand why Sam got so attached; they’ve only been here a month, and dad had warned them that this was going to be a short hunt. 

He didn’t mean to push Sammy so hard. Just, he wanted them to stop fighting, he wanted Sammy to stop being a brat and just listen to their father. And he, honest to god, hadn’t meant to punch Sammy in the face either.

But Sammy, in that adorable way of his, had a way with words. He could sweet-talk anyone into giving him whatever he wanted, and he could use his words like a hammer to deliver maximum damage.

_“Why do you always take his side? Why don’t you ever listen to me, for once? It’s not fair! I hate you!”_

Dean knew Sammy didn’t understand why those words hurt. Sammy was just an angry ten years old, and Dean had wanted to shield his little brother from everything around them. But damn, it still hurt! Dean _always_ stood up for Sammy – if it wasn’t for him, Sammy would be stuck all day in the motel, being ‘home-schooled’. If it wasn’t for Dean, Sammy would have starved a long time ago, and if it wasn’t for Sammy then Dean would still have had his childhood!

But, that wasn’t fair. If there was no Sammy then there would be no Dean. Or rather, he would be a Dean with no Sammy, and Dean knew what sort of person he’d be without his brother; he would be like his father, lonely and empty and without any purpose outside of hunting.

Dean wasn’t sure he liked that version of him, so he continued to run through the forest despite his aching legs, and he continued to scream Sammy’s name despite his dry throat.

He thought his heart had stopped beating when he saw Sammy running aimlessly into the dark streets, but that feeling was nothing compared to the complete terror that had gripped his entire body when, after a loud crack in the air, Sammy suddenly disappeared from the street.

He and his father had began running towards the forest even before they heard Sammy’s loud, terrified scream.

“Sammy!” He shouted through his tears. He didn’t care if he wasn’t being careful, he didn’t care if someone found him like this. He needed to find his younger brother. “Sammy!”

Dean continued to call out his brother’s name loudly, repeating it as if it was the only word he knew. And it might as well be, for all the good his words had done him.

 _‘God, I will be good,’_ He promised as he ran through a thicket of bowed trees. He was desperate; desperate enough to call on a being he wasn’t sure even existed. ‘ _Just please lead us to Sammy._ ’

His feet moved faster, and he continued to call out his brother’s name. _‘God, please keep Sammy safe; he’s all the good I have.’_

 _‘God, please._ ’ For some reason, he found himself running towards a thick bush. He pushed through the thick branches towards the other side, heart beating loudly in his chest. Sammy was here – he knew it.

_‘God,’_

His feet slipped on something wet and he came crashing onto the ground. His entire body ached, and he blearily opened his eyes as he slowly pushed himself upwards. Now sitting, he looked onto his damp hands and he began to shake.

He was sitting on a puddle of a blood. He shook his head and tried to push himself backwards and away from the red pool, but as he did so, his hand caught on something. He pulled his hand, and he saw a piece of blood-soaked cloth.

Dean recognized the cloth. He recognized that stupid, patterned shirt he had bought for Sammy as a joke. Stupid kid liked it so much, he refused to let Dean or his dad throw it out. The teenager could feel the tears leaking from his eyes as he clutched the blue-red cloth in his trembling hand.

“Sammy?” He called out, voice shaking.

His voice echoed in the empty forest, but there was no answer and he was still sitting on the muddy ground and bathing in his baby brother’s blood.

_“Watch over Sammy.”_

That was his goal, his purpose.

He failed.

Somehow, he found his voice. But when it tore out of his throat, he didn’t recognize it; it was too loud, too desperate, too gutted – too _inhuman._

“No!”

 

 


	2. Chapter Two

_February 14 th, 1993_

“I… I am alive?” Sam wearily asked as his eyes slowly adjusted to the bright world around him. He cringed internally at how rough and scratchy his voice sounded; it sounded like it was coming from a beast.

_A silvery white being built like an ape but with jaws like a wolf. It opened it’s jaws wide to reveal what looked like an endless row of fangs. Its red saliva dripped from its mouth and it growled threateningly._

Sam’s breathing quickened, and his chest tightened unbearably. His newly regained vision began to spot, and his hands weakly gripped the bedspread below him. He struggled, wrapping the blanket tightly around him and the beast was coming after him, and it was too hot, too hot –

A pair of warm hands pressed against both of his hands and squeezed comfortingly.

_Safety. Dean._

“De’n?” He mumbled lowly, more to himself rather than anything other else.

“Calm down, dear boy. You are safe.” An unknown voice said to him, and the hands tightened one more time, as if to reassure him, before it was gone. Sam began to move against the bed again, before he remembered the voice. It was the nice lady who had come to his rescue, the nice lady who had carried him in her arms and wrapped him in warmth.

“Yes, dear boy.” The woman said, her voice clear like smooth glass. The warm hand returned, and she began to card her hand through his hair. Unconsciously, Sam felt himself tilt his head towards her, trying to keep her hand there. “My name is Mellissa Crowe. What is yours, dearest?”

“Sam.” He replied, blinking and observing the white ceiling in front of him. “Sam Winchester. Am I in a hospital?”

The young woman didn’t say anything for a moment and her hand withdrew. Sam opened his eyes, wondering if she had gone away. But she was still there, sitting on a plump wooden chair, a frown on her pretty face.

He hesitated. “Miss?”

The woman’s eyes shot wide open, and her almond-shaped brown eyes settled on him. Her pink lips pulled upwards to form a gentle smile, and she nodded her head. “Yes, you smart boy – you are in President Wilkinson’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Curses.”

“Magical Maladies?” He asked, tilting his head. What did she mean by Magical Maladies?

Mellissa huffed out a small laugh. “It is exactly as it sounds, dearest. Some sicknesses are magical in nature, so people come here to have it cured.”

“But magic doesn’t exist.” He firmly told her. But there was a nagging feeling in the back of his head that told him _he_ was wrong. The creature that attacked him fluttered into his mind. Before panic could settle into his body, Mellissa’s hand was back in his hair and this time, he openly welcomed her kind touch.

“Of course, it does,” She said, and he could hear some laughter in her voice. Except, it didn’t sound very happy; it sounded… sad? “Do you want to see some proof?”

Was she going to perform some magic?

“Yes, I will. What do you want me to do?” Mellissa asked him, and her hand disappeared from his head only to be joined by the other to help him sit up against the headboard, so he could properly see Mellissa.

Sam gasped as the cold air attacked him when the blankets spilled away from his upper body. He looked down to his exposed middle, expecting to see a bandage, or a long scar but found nothing but smooth skin. He blinked in wonder and continued to do so even as Mellissa somehow managed to bundle him back into something that somehow resembled a sausage.

“Magic.” He whispered, impressed.

The young brunette sitting next to him snorted, laughing quietly to herself, but Sam couldn’t bring himself to be bothered by the fact she was laughing at him.

“Yes,” She confirmed in between her laughter. “Magic.”

“Can you pull a rabbit out of a hat?” Sam asked, jumping in his place and eagerly awaiting her answer. If his arms weren’t wrapped up, he’d probably be waving it around too.

“Oh Sammy,” She said, rolling her eyes. Her wrist snapped to the side, and Sam watched with unconcealed amazement as a long, polished wooden stick slid into her open palm. “You’re a child; try to have some more imagination, please.”

“Was that magic? Making your wand appear?” Sam eagerly asked her; he couldn’t wait until Dean came to see him. Dean would lose his marbles over this!

“Nope. I have a holster in my wrist, it allows me to slide my wand in and out.” She explained, and with a snap of her wrist, her wand was gone again. She pulled her sleeve up for him, so he could see the leather straps and mechanical device that was connected to her arm.

She flipped her wrist again, and the wand was in her firm grip once more. She began to gently cut through the air with her wand, and Sam watched in fascination as sparkling little stars appeared from the tip of her wand, floating towards the air. Once she had conjured many stars, she waved her wand again and the stars rearranged themselves into two distinct shapes; a wizard’s hat, and a spectral hand.

Mellissa delicately tapped her wand into the air, and the sparkly hand floated towards the hat. It waved once, twice to Sam. The young boy giggled and shyly waved back.

The hand enthusiastically waved one more time before it stuck itself into the hat and pulled out a starry rabbit from within it. The hat and the hand disappeared with a small ‘pop’, but the rabbit hopped away and danced around the awed boy’s head a bit before it exploded in a shower of silvery rain.

“Wow.” Sam whispered loudly, after he managed to close his mouth. He watched as the remaining particles disappeared with a ‘pop’. “Magic.”

“It may not be quite the rabbit you were thinking about, but I think as far as proofs go, this is very compelling, do you not agree?” Mellissa asked, and this time her smile was genuine.

Sam nodded her head eagerly.

“This is amazing! I can’t wait until Dean sees this!” Sam gushed, shaking in excitement. “I used to say magic is real, but Dean always said it wasn’t!”

Mellissa stilled for a moment, but before Sam could question her, she smiled and asked him, “Yes… about this Dean. Can you tell me who he is, Sammy?”

“He’s my big brother! And he’s the best!” Sam cheerfully told her. But then he wilted, as he remembered the last conversation they had, and that unexpected punch to the face. Does Dean even want to see him anymore?

He tried to move a hand to press against his bruised cheek, but he couldn’t wriggle his hand free from the warm blanket the older woman had wrapped him in. 

“I see.” Mellissa said, and her hand extended towards his hurt cheek. Yet, her touch was only kind and brought no pain with it. “Was he the one who hit you?”

Sam chose not to answer her, looking down at the white blankets that cocooned him.

“Sammy, my dear boy,” Mellissa said, inching to the edge of her chair so that she was seated closer to him than before. “When I brought you here, you had a pretty mean bruise on your face. It wasn’t your father, was it?”

“He didn’t mean to; he was just angry, and it was my fault anyway.” Sam said quickly, trying to tell Mellissa that pain wasn’t a usual thing. Dean always protected him, he tried to tell her; this was just an anomaly, a glitch in the system that was his overprotective older brother.

The young woman sighed and rolled her shoulders. She looked tired and her joints were stiff, as if she hadn’t left the chair for days. Sam frowned, as he thought deeper about her words.

“How long have I been asleep? And where is my family?” He asked her, his hands balling beneath the layers of blanket he was wrapped in.

“You’ve been asleep for a week, about.” She told him, meeting his gaze steadily. “I did not know how to reach out to your family – we didn’t know who you were and when I sent my people to the town to find them, I couldn’t find a trace of them there, either.”

Her words opened something within him like floodgates. His lips trembled, and his eyes watered immediately. His family were not here? They weren’t in town? Their dad had wanted to leave town; had he finally decided to be true to his word and leave him behind?

“Shh,” Mellissa said reaching out to him, but Sam simply twisted away from her as much as he was able. Her open palm dropped to her lap, and she stopped reaching out to him.

The woman looked to the side and muttered a low, “Ok.”

“I know your name now,” She then continued in a more normal voice. “I will broaden the search for your family; we will find them, I promise.”

Sam didn’t give her any outwards indication that he heard her. He twisted and crawled into his cocoon of blankets, burying himself within it. Once the blankets covered his head and darkness surrounded him, he allowed his tears to fall.

Why did they go on without him? Why did Dean leave him behind?

*

Mellissa sighed and pushed her face into her balled fists, pressing against her eyes. It didn’t stop or help with the throbbing she felt in her forehead. She felt bad for doing what she did, but she had no choice – it was the fastest way to get information, and the only way to get accurate ones without accidentally hurting the boy.

Still, she managed to hurt him despite her best efforts.

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

The brown-haired woman looked up to see a tall woman tapping her knuckles against the glass wall that separated Sam’s room from the hallway. It was Kara Marsh, one of the few Aurors who worked directly for Mellissa’s office, and her former partner before she became Head. She was also the one overseeing the operation to find Sam’s family, since Mellissa had refused to leave until he awoke.

She turned her head to check on her charge one more time and sighed when she found him buried under the blankets still.

“I will be back.” She promised him, unwilling to let him think that she was going to abandon him. If she had her way, she wouldn’t be leaving the room at all, but she was still the Head of Magical Security and duty bowed to no one.

Mellissa stood up from her conjured chair and walked towards the door. She exited the room and closed the door with an almost inaudible _click._

“Madam Crowe.” The dark-skinned woman greeted, squaring her broad shoulders. She bowed her head briefly as Mellissa exited the room and straightened her posture when Mellissa stood in front of her.

“Ms. Marsh.” She greeted genially, nodding to her subordinate. “Anything from the office that needs my attention?”

The Auror reached down into her purse and pulled out a stack of papers that were thicker and wider than her delicate purse. She handed the papers to Mellissa, who accepted it with only slight trepidation.

Mercy Lewis, she hated paperwork.

“What is this?” She asked, skimming over the papers. Investigations results, warrant requests, a couple of conspiracy theories from the general public and the usual complaint from a Mr. Declan Barret of Nebraska about the bar near his home.

“Page one through twenty needs your immediate response.” Marsh told her, and Mellissa resisted the urge to smack her forehead against the glass wall behind her. “I have already dealt with the rest – I only brought them with me for you to review.”

Search and arrest warrants.

Mellissa pulled her wand out and waved it, and her signature appeared neatly on each paper. The signature line for the Director and President were, surprisingly, filled; usually, her signature was needed first before the forms could pass to either the Director or the President.

“Has anyone acted without the authority of the warrants?” Mellissa asked, knowing very well that there must be at least one such individual. Her Aurors were far too predictable, unfortunately.

Marsh shrugged her shoulders. “Auror Venera already took Mister Nathan Cooke into custody.”

“On what charges?” She asked, as she searched through the papers to find the arrest warrant for Nathan Cooke. Mellissa grimaced as she read through the list of crimes the man was accused of; dark magic, No-Maj torture, attempting to break the Statue of Secrecy…

Apparently, he was active in different parts of Europe before he decided to cross the pond to escape the European Aurors.

“Drunk and Disorderly.” Marsh said with a flat voice, but her pink lips twitched in obvious amusement. The Head of the Magical Law Enforcement put the papers down for a moment and levelled Marsh with a frown.

“We don’t have drinking laws.” Mellissa slowly said.

Marsh let out a small laugh escape before she pulled herself together and nodded. “I know. But the No-Majs do, apparently, and Ciel performed a ‘citizen’s arrest’.”

“And Mr. Venera conveniently took him to our holding cells?” Mellissa asked, and handed over the stack of warrants back to the Auror, while keeping the other papers in her grip. She couldn’t fault Ciel’s desire to get this wizard off the streets, but they should make sure that this arrest sticks, which it won’t if she doesn’t get those warrants filed quickly. “Regardless, we do not maintain No-Maj laws and we will not be able to detain him for long – please file these immediately.”

“Madam Crowe, they’ve been filed since yesterday.” Marsh reassured her, tone serious, and Mellissa was reminded of why she liked this fellow Auror so much. Efficient and dependable, she always made things easier for her.

“Thank you, Kara.” Mellissa said, deciding to drop the formalities for now. “I know I have been a bother the past week – it means a lot to me that you were willing to do all of this for me.”

Marsh let out an undignified ‘pfft’. She stuck the warrants back into her purse and put her arms on her hips before she winked and said, “I don’t mind helping out an old friend; without you, I would’ve never graduated Ilvermorny. They probably would’ve expelled me just to get rid of me.”

The shorter woman opened her mouth to disabuse her friend of such notions; Marsh was simply unmotivated and clearly possessed seeds of deep intelligence and talent. Anyone who wanted to be her friend would have helped her reach her potential, and Professor Stephens would have never had her expelled, besides.

“How is he?” Marsh said, cutting Mellissa off before she could speak. Her bright eyes were attached to the glass door behind the other woman, leaving no doubt as to whom Marsh was asking about.

“He woke up.” Mellissa said, taking in her friend’s surprised, but pleased, expression. The Healers had predicted that Sam’s coma would continue for another week, as the boy did not seem to take well to their potions and spells. Even now they were looking into why he was reacting the way he did, despite clearly being a wizard. “I have new information for you. But first, can you tell me what happened when you went into town?”

“What happened when we went to town, hm.” Marsh made a thoughtful sound, looking up to the ceiling as she thought. “I actually went to that town before I came here.”

“You did?” Years of training in politics were the only thing that helped Mellissa school her tone and avoid coloring it with unwelcome surprise; Marsh usually hated interacting with No-Majs.

“I asked around to see if anyone was missing a child. All children are apparently accounted for, so I decided to ask the No-Maj law enforcement if there were any missing persons report that was filed around the same day you found the boy.”

Mellissa waited for Marsh to continue, but her friend remained silent, so she gently encouraged, “And? Did you find anything?”

Marsh gave out a loud, guttural sound; the same sort she’d make back when they were still in school and would accidentally step on a creature’s droppings. “No! I even went to other towns nearby and asked the same questions, but according to them, no child has gone missing!”

Then, she shook her head and raised her long arms to the ceiling. “I mean, what kind of parent doesn’t go to the authorities when their child is missing?”

“A negligent one, or one who doesn’t trust the law.” Mellissa answered with no shortage of disgust of her own. She too was disturbed by what Marsh had revealed, but not surprised. She shook her own head and ran a hand through her dark brown tresses before she spoke again, “His name is Sam Winchester; he has a brother named Dean and his father is John. They move a lot for his father’s job, and he’s convinced his father left him in that town in purpose.”

Marsh frowned. The tall woman raised both hands to her temples and waved them conspicuously.

“Did he tell you all this, or did you use your freaky mind powers?” Marsh asked. “Because if you did, I should tell you that you know better than that.”

“Words are hard, minds are easier.” Mellissa automatically tried to defend herself, but it sounded weak and pitiful even to her. She didn’t know how to accurately explain to her friend about how hard it was for her to speak to someone without accidentally peeking into someone’s mind. She knew it wasn’t right to peer into someone’s mind without permission, but how else was she supposed to navigate a conversation without hurting people?

She collected herself and tried again. “Minds are more open when people are feeling extremes of emotion. He was practically reaching out for me – his mind is terribly open, even more than usual for children for his age; once I felt him, it was hard to pull back without looking in.”

And it was. Mellissa was desperate for any information regarding this strange child and once his mind touched hers – it was like asking a starving man to abstain from a feast. Her mind yearned for knowledge and his wanted to give it, and she was inside his head before she could think better of it.

Still, being a Legilimens is a responsibility and she couldn’t help but feel terrible for breaking the boy’s trust and failing her moral duty.

“I feel bad. I am sorry I did it, but I think I would do it again if I had to; Sammy is terrified of telling too much about his family. He only told me about Dean because I brought him up first.” Mellissa said, standing straight and looking straight into her Marsh’s blue eyes. There was no use crying over spilled potions, her father always said. “Does that make you feel better?”

The dark-skinned woman huffed and looked away. But then her shoulders sank, and she sighed in defeat, and Mellissa knew that she won.

“Winchester, huh? The name is familiar – I will check it out and come back to you.” Marsh said, then smiled wanly at her boss before she gave her a two fingered salute and Apparated away.

With her tall friend gone, Mellissa leaned against the cool glass wall and sighed. She looked through the glass and saw the shaking blankets. She desperately wanted to reach out to him and find out what was hurting him, but Marsh’s words stuck out to her.

She knew better than to use her powers carelessly; her father taught her better than that.

“I suppose it’s time I learned how to speak to a person with just my mouth.” Mellissa muttered to herself, pushing herself from the now-warm wall and easily crossing the small distance between herself and the door to Sam’s room.

She sat back in her place and prepared to continue her vigil. Hesitantly, afraid of being rejected, Mellissa reached out her hand to touch the top of Sam’s head, the only part of him that wasn’t hidden away by a blanket.

When Sam didn’t reject her touch, she considered it a win.

*

Dean didn’t want to leave the town where Sammy disappeared. But his father insisted, and whether the teenager liked it or not, his father’s argument made sense.

“Sammy’s not here anymore; we have to leave.” His father told him, eyes empty and sunken. It’s two weeks since Sammy disappeared, and his father wants them to pack up, to leave the town. He looked worse than Dean ever remembered him being; John Winchester looked defeated and broken – he looked like a man who lost everything.

Dean didn’t want to leave. He wanted to stay, to search for clues; he wanted to look for Sammy. But they had spent the last few days combing through the forest, and there were no clues there. The best they could make out were many footsteps leading into the puddle of blood and around it. But there were no footsteps leading out of it.

It was as if something had walked into the pooling blood, picked Sam up and disappeared.

“Dad, please.” Dean tried again, illogically wishing his father was drunk. If John was drunk, then he could blame this all on the alcohol. “Let’s look through the town again.”

John’s large hand slammed against the dining table.

“We’ve looked everywhere in this rat’s hole!” He bellowed, hands balled into fists. “We’ve looked in the hospitals around here, we’ve looked in all the abandoned houses, we’ve broken into people’s houses and there is no Sammy!”

“He’s not dead!” Dean shouted back, unable to stop himself from crying as his father spoke. He couldn’t stand his father’s implications. A world without Sammy was like a having a compass that couldn’t point north; pointless and useless. “We can’t leave him behind! He’ll think we abandoned him!”

“Of course, he’s not dead!” His father yelled back, flipping the table that was in front of him. Dean stepped back and watched the table miss him by a couple of inches. He watched as his father released many loud, angry breaths one after the other.

In a weaker voice, his father continued to speak, “Sammy can’t be dead, Dean. He can’t be.”

Dean approached his father warily, worried that his father would explode into another violent fit of rage. He slowly asked, “Then why are we leaving?”

John shot him a murderous look. “Because whatever took Sammy isn’t here anymore; it took him, and now we have to track it.”

The boy watched his father and chewed on the inside of his mouth. He really didn’t want to leave; if Sammy wanted to find them, he’d try to track them back here, into this town. But if his father was right, then Sammy was something or someone’s prisoner.

He crossed his arms around himself and thought about his father’s words, and the past few days. When his father managed to drag him away from the blood and calm him down, he called Bobby. The gruff Hunter had wasted no time in calling his fellow buddies, and they had all been busy searching the forest and the surrounding towns for Sam.

No stone was left unturned, because no Hunter wanted to wake up one day and find their kid gone. Everyone sympathized with them and tried to help.

But still, there had been no trace of Sammy.

Dean mulled over his options once more.

“If Sammy comes back here –” He started, clutching at the rough fabric of his jeans.

“If Sammy, somehow, comes back here, he’ll find a way back to us.” John cut him off, and he turned to give Dean his back. “One of Bobby’s friends bought this motel; the staff will keep an eye out for Sammy, and if any Hunter sees him, they will call us and let us know.”

Dean didn’t want to think on why Sam could be spotted by a Hunter, but he still did. Sammy was so young, so naïve, so trusting, and in his eagerness to protect his brother from the truth, he crippled him by not letting him know about all the dangers that existed in the world.

This meant that he was just as vulnerable as any civilian. Vulnerable to being tricked, or to being transformed.

The older brother felt his stomach twist at the thought of Sammy out there, all alone and defenseless. He resisted the urge, not for the first time in the past few days, to go and bend over the toilet.

Dean sighed; his father had thought of everything, and despite how much he wanted to deny him, John Winchester was right. If they wanted to find Sammy and get him back, then being out in the field, actively trying to track him down would be far more effective than just sitting here on his thumbs waiting for Sammy to come back.

“Ok. Fine.” He told his father and pretended not to notice how John’s shoulders sagged in relief when he agreed. “Where are we going?”

John straightened his back and picked up his still packed-up duffel. He still looked broken to Dean, but at the same time he thought that his father’s pain now had a purpose. The pointed edge of his jagged pieces now had a direction, an unknown enemy it was waiting to pierce through.

“First, we’re going back Home.”


	3. Chapter Three

_March 1 st, 1993_

Sam frowned as he read the book. It was a gift from Mellissa; she had to go back to her job at the Magical Law Enforcement Department, and she left him with a stack of books to read and entertain himself while he was alone.

A lot of the books were about magical history for kids and children’s books written by witches and wizards. It was very fascinating and interesting and Sam couldn’t wrap around his head how a world this amazing and vast could stay hidden for so long.  

“Professor Krane sounds very mean, doesn’t she Hubble?” Sam asked the napping golden cat on the end of his hospital bed. She wasn’t really a full cat; Mellissa said she was half-Kneazle and that she would watch out for him while Mellissa was in the office. He asked her whether Hubble could breathe fire, but to his dismay, she couldn’t.

He didn’t really understand how a cat, even a magical one, could ‘watch out’ for him if it couldn’t breathe fire.

He watched the cat’s satisfied expression for a couple of moments, before he turned his head to read the floating number at the top of his sliding door. In clear, golden lettering, it read three fifty-seven.

Just three minutes left until Mellissa came back from her office. She always teleported, or rather Apparated, directly in front of his door at four p.m. on the dot. Never late, nor early; always punctual. His father would have admired her dedication.

Three fifty-eight.

He tried to go back to his novel, to read about what happened next to Morgan Leigh, the protagonist of the story. She was a Metamorphmagus who was going undercover to a No-Maj school to find out what happened to her missing father, only to be thwarted by the mean Professor Krane, her form mistress and the descendant of a Scourer. The story was honestly very interesting and he couldn’t wait to know whom Morgan was going to impersonate next.

The young boy kind of wished he was a Metamorphamagus, then he wouldn’t have to comb his hair every morning; it would stay combed all day and night! And he could grow it out whenever he wanted, even if Dean chopped it short again!

Three fifty-nine.

Sam abandoned the pretense of reading and set his book to the side. He’ll finish reading later, but for now he was too wired to even think about reading; Mellissa had promised to take him back to town.

Maybe the Aurors missed something, he thought. Maybe his father and brother didn’t leave him behind, and all he had to do was go there himself to check. Sam was ninety-nine point nine certain that Dean didn’t leave him behind. His big brother would never abandon him.

Even though he was an ungrateful, whiny brat.

Sam looked up to see the golden numbers turn to four. Just as it did, a large crack sounded in the air and the young boy peered at the glass wall that separated his room from the hallway. As he expected, Mellissa was standing there and smoothening the long, pale blue robe she was wearing over her smart suit. Once she was satisfied with her appearance, Mellissa turned to face Sam’s wall. The first thing Sam noticed was the displeased look she was wearing. She saw Sam staring at her, and gave him a small, awkward wave as she walked towards the door.

Sam laughed and waved back.

“Can we go now?” He asked, as soon as Mellissa closed the door. He kicked off the sheets that were covering him, and his legs began to shake in excitement. The young boy was ecstatic that he got to leave the room for the first time in weeks, and best of all he’d get to see Dean.

He frowned when she failed to reply, and then tried again, “Can we, please?”

The frown on Mellissa’s face frowned when he asked the second time, and she sighed. The young brown haired woman raised her head and gave him a tight smile.

“I can’t take you out looking like this, can I?” She asked, pointing at his clothes. Sam looked down and realized that he was only wearing the hospital-issued gown and his boxers.

“Oops.” Sam said, heat spreading all over his face. He reached out for the blankets to cover his legs again, but found himself blinking owlishly at a floating paper bag in front of him. He spread his hands towards it, and watched as the bag fell down onto his hands.

Magic. Sam was still surprised and awed at every effortless display of wonder that Mellissa or the Healers casually performed around him.

“What’s this?” He asked, even as he peered into the bag. He could see some clothes folded inside, each article of clothing separated by a clear sheet of paper. It looked expensive. He sniffed it and made a face; it even smelled expensive.

“Clothes. Obviously.” Mellissa said, tucking a stray bang behind her ear. “The clothes you had when I brought you in were very… messy. You obviously can’t go out in hospital robes; I saw these and I thought you’d look good in them.”

Sam frowned. On one hand, his father taught him to never accept charity. On the other hand, these clothes were new and Mellissa had bought them specifically for him. She has been with him since the day he woke up, and all the Healers he met had told him how she had stayed by his side while he slept.

He didn’t want to sound ungrateful.

“Thank you.” Sam said, and watched Mellissa nod. The joyless smile was still on her face, and Sam found himself asking, “Why are you angry?”

Mellissa’s head snapped up and her eyes widened in shock. Sam wanted to find a solid wall and smack his head against it; why did he have to say that? He sounds pushy and annoying!

“I am not angry. Why do you think I am angry?”

“You’re not happy.” Sam decided, pinching the bedspread and then smoothening it. He did it again as he gathered his courage to speak. “I can tell; you look upset.”

The woman looked up, as if she was wondering whether to tell him the truth or not. Her eyes hardened for a moment, but then she was all soft edges once more when she spoke.

“It’s my father; he insists to dine with you and me today.” Mellissa said, rolling her eyes as she did so. She slumped on the plush chair next to his bed. “He also wants to join us when we go to town.”

“Why?” Sam asked, frowning as he did so. He heard about Mellissa’s father from the Healers; he was the Director of Magical Security, and he made sure that magic didn’t become public knowledge. What if he came to take Sam’s memory of magic away?

Unconsciously, he clutched at the paper bag and resisted the urge to cry out when he realized what he did. The young boy sighed in relief when he saw that the bag wasn’t even wrinkled.

God, he wished he was a wizard.

“Um.” Mellissa hummed, looking away. Her tight bun swayed slightly as she moved her face away from his. “I don’t know. His mind works in mysterious ways, I suppose.”

She clapped her hands and jumped up. “So, put on those clothes of yours! The sooner you put those on, the sooner we can finish eating with Father and then we can go look for you father and brother!”

The young boy nodded and began to slide off the bed when a familiar voice said, “Not so fast, Sammy!”

Sam snapped his face up and grinned when he saw his Healer slide into his hospital room, a teasing grin on his face. Mellissa, for her part, closed her eyes as a look of deep concentration appeared on her face.

“Hello, Madam Crowe.” The Healer then said, and Mellissa pointed her tight smile towards him.

“Hello.” She replied simply, nodding her head in acknowledgment. “What do you need?”

The Healer didn’t seem surprised by her curtness. Rather, in good spirit, he replied, “Well before little Sammy here --”

“I am not little!” Sam piped in, but didn’t get angry. This Healer had a particularly bad sense of humor, and over the few weeks he had remained here, he learnt how to navigate his interactions with him.

“Oh excuse me,” The Healer said, turning and bowing his head to Sam mockingly. “Before this little _midget_ here can get discharged, albeit temporarily, we need you,” He paused dramatically and pointed his pen at Mellissa, “to sign these papers. Also, I need you to promise me that you’ll bring him back; I’ve become very fond of him, you see.”

Mellissa rolled her eyes derisively and took the pen and forms from him. Sam leaned to the side of his bed so he can see Mellissa’s elegant signature. His father’s was boring, and Dean’s signature resembled a chicken’s scrawl rather than letters.

“What do you think I am going to do with him, Healer…” Mellissa trailed off and looked down at the paper she was signing. She frowned.

Sam’s Healer matched her frown. “You don’t know my name, do you?”

“No!” Mellissa denied. Her frown deepened and she looked into the Healers eyes, as if she was thinking of something very hard, but then shook her head. She looked down to the forms again. “No, no, absolutely not! You’re Healer… A. Wye.”

“What’s my first name?” Healer Wye questioned, crossing his arms. He raised an eyebrow as the young woman looked up to the ceiling, clearly uncomfortable.

“Alexander.” Sam whispered, trying to catch Mellissa’s attention. “His name is Alexander.”

Scarcely had Sam whispered these words did the woman jump and straighten her back. “Your name is Alexander Wye.” She said, breathless from her rushed words. “There, I knew your name, you see?”

Healer Wye didn’t look convinced. He indicated to Sam, who tried to look as innocent as he could. “Sammy just told you my name.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mellissa insisted, pushing the papers to the Healer and trying to push him away as she did so. “I signed your forms, and I will bring Sammy back before nine p.m., so please consider yourself excused.”

“Um, wait. As Sam’s temporary guardian, I have something to tell you.” Healer Wye said. But Mellissa gave an insistent, “Later!”, and pushed him out of the door. The Healer remained in front of the door for a couple of seconds but the young woman didn’t open the door.

Sam watched as Healer Wye shook his head and raised his arms in frustration, but the man did walk away from Sam’s room and deeper into the hallway.

“Finally, I thought he’ll never leave.” Mellissa said, and the heavy look she was sporting before the Healer arrived was gone from her face. Sam felt his lips pull up at her unburdened expression.

“Alexander Wye.” She continued, in that same tone Dean would use whenever he wanted to make fun of something or someone. “Who’d keep that last name? If I were him I would have changed it the moment I turned seventeen!”

“How can you not have known his name?” He asked her suddenly, sliding off the bed and heading towards the bathroom attached to the room. He leant against the doorframe and looked at her. “You’ve known him for weeks now!”

“He never told it to me.” She claimed, and Sam shook his head.

“Yes he did.” Sam argued back; he clearly remembered that day the Healer came and introduced himself. “You know. That day I woke up; he told us both his name after—”

“After he gave a monologue on how his sister’s cats won that cat competition? Yes, I started tuning him off the moment he said ‘sister’.” Mellissa cut him off, nodding her head decisively. If Sam didn’t know any better, he’d say she was frazzled. “Besides, I’ve only seen him like, three times!”

Sam leveled her with a stare. “You’ve seen him every day you’ve come here.”

“Just go.” Mellissa said, slumping back into her chair inelegantly. She waved him off, and continued, “I am saving you from hospital food, although it comes at cost of my father’s company.”

Sam’s good mood vanished in that instant, and he compliantly entered the bathroom; the prospect of changing his clothes never seemed more grim.

*

Mellissa felt her father arrive before she heard the signature _crack_ that accompanied every Apparition. Her mind reached out to his instinctively, a beacon of familiarity and protection.

She sighed. “Hello father. You know it’s not really lunch if you eat at four, right?”

“Did I say lunch?” Her father asked jovially. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his well-pressed trousers. “I meant an early dinner. Where is the Winchester boy?”

Mellissa indicated to the bathroom door, and she crossed her arms. She carefully began to count downwards from ten. “He’s changing his clothes. I thought we were going to meet at the restaurant?”

“You were late – you promised to come at four fifteen, and it is four thirty.” Her father said by way of answer. Then he explained further, “You’re never late.”

Mellissa didn’t need to be a Legilimens to know that her father had been worried about her. She sighed and took a deep breath in; she didn’t want to let her father know she was still upset about what had happened between them this morning.

“I… may have underestimated the amount of time Sam needed to get ready.”

But Angel Crowe didn’t become the Director of Magical Security by being a fool, and he was her father besides. There weren’t much things she could hide from him, or many things she wanted to hide from him for that matter.

“I am sorry about what I told you in the morning but I can’t protect you from the truth, Justicia.” He told her, and they both heard some shuffling around in the bathroom and turned their heads towards it.

The door was still closed.

Her father sighed, and then Mellissa felt his mind push against her shields, gently knocking and asking to be let in. She opened a small breach in her defenses and allowed a small mental connection to form between them.

 _‘Don’t call me Justicia; you named me Mellissa – honor that name.’_ She greeted him, a pathetic attempt at postponing the inevitable.

She saw her parent roll his brown eyes, clearly exasperated by her bringing up this old argument. _‘Your mother wanted Mellissa, I wanted you to be Justicia after my mother; unfortunately I pulled the short straw so your birth certificate says Mellissa first but you will always be Justicia to me.’_

Mellissa snorted at her father’s comment. She waited a couple of moments for her father to bring up the real reason he decided to continue their conversation in the privacy of their own minds. She didn’t have to wait too long.

_‘The Winchesters are dangerous, Justicia. If this boy is a wizard like you say he is, I cannot allow you to send him back to them. It is a deadly risk, both for him and our world.’_

There it was.

Like any good witch or wizard, she was dedicated to maintaining the Statue of Secrecy. But her father’s argument did not make any sense; why would the Winchesters be a danger? Setting aside the bruise on Sam’s face, she had seen nothing in his mind that would indicate _deadly danger_.

What right did her father have to separate a child from their family?

 _But you want to separate Sam from his family, don’t you?_ A nasty voice asked within her, and it sounded just like her own. _You want to keep him for yourself, don’t you?_

 _He’s not mine to keep._ She reminded herself, the closest she’d ever come to acknowledging this terrible desire, even as she answered her father. She tactfully chose to sidestep the issue of Sam; if her father sensed her desire, he would use it against her. ‘ _What sort of risk could two No-Majs pose to the whole Wizarding world? One of them is still a child! What sort of danger could there be that can’t be fixed with a memory wipe?’_

_‘Much bigger risk than you can imagine; John Winchester’s maternal grandfather is Spencer Hayes. Does that name sound familiar to you?’_

Mellissa’s head snapped up to look into her father’s face. He wasn’t looking at her, but at the still closed door, steady and unshaken by what he had revealed to her. It was as if he could see the boy on the other side of the door, who was undoubtedly trying to listen in on their conversation.

Spencer Hayes.

She studied that name in Auror Academy and she grew up hearing about the incident in her own home. Hayes was a No-Maj and the descendant of a particularly vicious Scourer, Joel Grant. Like others who descended from Scourers, Hayes hated magic and made numerous attempts to expose it and eradicate those who possessed it.

In late 1940s, he almost caused a huge breach in the Statue of Secrecy when he somehow managed to kidnap a couple of Ilvermorny students who were on break. Luckily, two young Aurors managed to stop him and Obliviate the minds of everyone involved, including Hayes.

But Hayes never forgot his hate for magic.

His daughter, Millie, later ran off to marry one of the Aurors responsible for his defeat; Henry Winchester. Winchester disappeared during an assignment, and Hayes tracked her down a couple of years afterwards. Rumor has it he killed his own daughter and raised her Squib son to have the same values as himself.

But those were just rumors. Could Jon Winchester truly be the lost son of Henry Winchester? Could he really be a Scourer, a witch hunter? Sam’s memories did not indicate such findings but…

The young woman mulled over her thoughts. The boy’s older brother taught him strange things; the salt lines on doors and windows, the proper way to shoot guns, the easy way to handle knives, and he made Sam memorize certain lines from the Christian Bible. Each on their own sounded innocuous enough, quirky No-Maj traits, but together and under her father’s implication, it painted a bloody picture.

It sounded like the habits of a witch hunter.

The slight brunette shivered, but she was not quite ready to admit defeat. _‘What proof do you have that Sam’s father is a witch hunter?’_

Her father finally tore his eyes from the bathroom door, only to give her an extremely unhappy gaze. Mellissa swallowed as she remembered why many people avoided an angry Angel Crowe; he simply had one of the meanest gazes she had ever seen in a man.

He was angry that she did not trust him.

 _‘I do not make such accusations lightly, Justicia.’_ Her father said to her. _‘I tracked Sam’s school records after you spoke to me about him and found out that there were ten towns where a witch or a wizard were critically injured around the same time they were in there.’_

Mellissa felt terribly sick. _‘Ten?’_

_‘Yes. They were shot by No-Maj weaponry; luckily for them, they managed to fool the Winchesters into thinking that they were dead and managed to Apparate away to here.’_

The young woman sighed and buried her head into her hands. One or two magic users being attacked by No-Majs was normal, but ten? Chances were, her father was right and the Winchesters are witch hunters.

 _‘What do you intend to do about Sam?’_ She asked, and watched as the bathroom door finally opened; Sam must’ve gotten tired of trying to spy on their nonverbal communication. The witch raised her head to look at the young boy and smiled at what she saw.

Sam stepped out of the bathroom and into the room, looking down at the white floor. Mellissa resisted the urge to coo at how cute he looked in that blue three-piece suit she bought him. It was always on display in her favorite clothing shop, and she had always felt envious of the fact she knew no child who could wear it and model it for her. Getting it fitted to Sam was easy as pie with the assistance of magic.

“You can take off the jacket if you want.” She offered when she saw him fiddle around with it uncomfortably. Maybe he thought it was too hot? Was that why he was fidgeting?

The brown-haired boy shook his head wildly and looked up to give Mellissa’s father a shy glance. He looked down again and gripped the edges of his formal jacket tightly, twisting it around. Instantly, it was like a wand had been lit inside her head.

“Sammy this is my father, Angel Crowe.” She introduced him, making sure to keep her voice even and soft. The last thing she needed was for Sam to pick up on the tense air around her and her father; he is a very perceptive child and who could tell what he’d do if he felt lied to? “Father, this is Sam Winchester, the boy I spoke to you about.”

Her father didn’t show any indication of the conversation they were having just now, and pounced on the boy. “My, my, so you’re the boy who managed to drag my daughter out of her office!”

“Um.” Sam said, looking unsure.

But Mellissa’s father had no such insecurities. He took Sam’s hand into his own and shook it enthusiastically. He continued to speak in a happy tone, “Marvelous! Simply marvelous! My girl takes too much after me – I was scared she’ll end up a workaholic with no life like me! And she’s such a pretty girl, that would’ve been a shame!”

The young woman felt her left eye twitch at her father’s words. Whose fault was it that she ended up with a desk job that meant she had to supervise the entirety of law enforcement in Magical America?! And what does he mean ‘pretty girl’? She had other things going for her other than her looks; Mellissa one of the few people in Ilvermorny who got O’s in all her exams!

Besides, if the young woman decided to go out with someone it will be on her terms.

 _‘That ass never had any problems playacting.’_ She thought meanly to herself, only to remember that her connection to her father was still wide open when he delivered the mental equivalent of a kick to the shins. She pressed a hand against her temple to push back against the slight headache when she heard her father speak, to her mind and through his mouth.

“Are you ready to eat, Justicia?” He asked, looking at her in the eye.

_‘If the boy is a wizard we will have to find him a new home, maybe see if we can find any surviving Winchesters. Otherwise he and his family will be Obliviated.’_

“Of course I am ready to eat. What about you Sammy?” She smiled at the young boy, and hoped that it didn’t look as terrible as she felt inside.

“Who’s Justicia?” Sam asked with a frown. At least he didn’t look frightened of her father anymore.

“My middle name is Justicia.” She replied immediately, smiling at the little boy as he looked into her eyes with trust.

Obliviated.

The idea that Sammy could easily forget about her made her sick inside. At the same time, the thought of Sammy being separated from his family made her just as sick. But there was a small, terrible part of her that was happy about this; she was certain the boy was magical, and the Winchester family was practically extinct. Maybe Sammy could stay with her, be part of her family?

Mercy Lewis, what a horrible person she is. The boy cried out for his older brother at night and she was hoping to make him stay here with her, to fill a void that she never knew existed.

Sammy nodded his head and gave Angel a shy smile. The old man returned it with more enthusiasm and extended an arm to his daughter, all the while still holding the young boy’s hand in his own.

 _‘I want him.’_ She thought to herself as she looped her arm around her father’s own. _‘Why couldn’t he have been my son?’_

Maternal instinct is disgusting, she decided, as her father Apparated them to her favorite family restaurant in the magical side of Massachusetts.

*

John Winchester wanted to drive all the way back to Lawrence, but it was still three days away and he needed to sleep and eat. He didn’t particularly want to, but as dull aches spread through his stomach and as his eyes began to close involuntarily, he knew he had no choice.

It was still dark, and he almost missed the turn that would take him to the nearest town. The hunter turned to the side and looked at Dean, slouched on the passenger side, trying to fight off sleep. More importantly than anything else, _Dean_ needed to sleep, and not in the leather chair of his father’s car, but in an actual bed. His oldest needed to eat real food, something that wasn’t from a convenience store or a fast food joint.

He already misplaced one son, he had no intention of losing another.

John gripped the steering wheel tightly and looked at the picture of Sammy he kept hanging from the rearview mirror. His son, his _baby_ , was not dead.

Of that, he was certain.

He just _knew_ , the way he knew breathing was a requirement to being alive, the way he knew that shifters and werewolves were affected by silver; it was a fact of life, for him. The sky was blue, the sea was salty, Sammy was alive.

It pained him – like a knife to the chest –  to think of what sort of pain Sammy must be going through right now. He had wanted to keep Mary’s last gift to him innocent for as long as possible, and he couldn’t help but feel that that is what caused all of this.

Maybe if he told Sammy of the dangers out there, his boy would have never left his side. Maybe if he told Sammy about all monsters he hunted, his baby wouldn’t have argued so much about leaving towns, switching schools.

 _Or maybe_ , an old thought popped up in the forefront of his mind. _If you gave your boys the normal, safe, life they deserved then none of this would be happening._

“Damn it!” He suddenly shouted, and he felt Dean jump up in surprise as he slammed his foot against the breaks. The car pulled to a screeching halt.

The older man punched the dashboard and continued to curse.

“Damn it!” He repeated, slamming his head on the steering wheel. _He_ should be there with Sammy, he should be protecting Sammy right now. His son, his ten years old _baby_ , shouldn’t be out there all alone.

He couldn’t stop the tears that slipped out of his eyes, and didn’t bother to raise his head up when his oldest son quietly said, “Dad?”

He hadn’t cried since his Mary died. All the things he’d seen in his life, all those monsters he killed and lives he inadvertently destroyed in his quest to find his wife’s killer and he never cried, not once. His anger was like steel tipped in the fires that destroyed his life and it guided him up to this point, but now he felt lost and aimless.

If he couldn’t protect his own children, then what was the point of doing all of this?

Tomorrow, he’ll be strong.


	4. Chapter Four

_March 1 st, 1993_

Sam watched in fascination as a loud _whoosh_ cut through the air as one of the servers came flying down to meet them at the entrance of the restaurant.

“Welcome back, Director Crowe, Madame Crowe!” The young woman chirped, seated on her still floating broomstick. She then looked down and blinked her eyes owlishly when she saw Sam. But she regained her composure very quickly and greeted Sam just as enthusiastically.

“Welcome to the Broomstick Cottage young man! Is this your first time here?” She asked.

“Yes.” Sam absently said, eyes glued to the worn wood of the broom in front of him. A flying broom! An actual, flying broomstick! Even when he learned magic was real, he never imagined that he would get to see actual witches and wizards flying on _broomsticks._

At the same time, he heard Mellissa’s father say, “Yes; this is Sammy’s first time in the Broomstick Cottage. Can we have the special, please?”

“Of course!” The young woman said in a sing-a-song voice. “Will you be needing help to get to your usual table or will you Apparate there? Or do you want a lower table, instead?”

“I don’t think Sammy is quite ready for a broomstick—” Mellissa said, but Sam quickly pulled at her robe’s sleeve and gave her his best ‘puppy-eyed stare’ as Dean called them. All he knew was that eight times out of ten it got him what he wanted.

“Can we ride on the broomstick, please?” He asked, making sure to stress the ‘please’.

The young waitress cooed at his display, but Sam waited for Mellissa’s reply. He watched as her mouth twitched upwards, but it never blossomed to a full smile. Instead, she sighed and nodded her head.

“Very well then, my dear boy.” She told him as she fixed him with a serious stare. “But you will have to hold on to me, alright? Some people here don’t deserve to fly a broomstick.”

The ten years old nodded his head eagerly. He would agree to hang off the broomstick by his legs if it meant he get to have a broomstick ride! As he thought of this, Sam gave Mellissa’s father a cautious glance; he was nice, and didn’t erase Sam’s memories of magic but what if he changed his mind?

Sam decided then that it would be better if he limited their interaction as much as possible, at least until Sam determined what Angel Crowe wanted from him.

“Why are you smiling like that, father?” Mellissa said with a frown as she twirled her wrist. Her pale wand slid into her hand easily. Sam looked over to her father, and saw the older man smiling mischievously. The young woman twisted her wand around wordlessly before she continued, “It’s creepy, I suggest you drop it.”

Sam stared as a broom came flying from up and into Mellissa’s waiting hand. It was a beautiful piece of art; the wood was shiny and light, and the words _‘Nimbus 1500’_ were embossed in golden letters on the varnished handle.

“You’re very mean to your father.” Angel replied to his daughter as he extended his arm. A broom came flying into his hand, and Sam almost let his jaw drop open. Did he cast a spell without using his wand?

His daughter, on the other hand, didn’t seem too impressed and she rolled her eyes as she muttered, “Show off.”

“Can you cast spells without using a wand?” Sam couldn’t stop himself from asking. At the same time, his brain was going through all the possibilities; could Mellissa’s father wipe his memories of magic without even raising a wand?

“Yes. Simple spells are easy enough to cast without wands with enough practice.” Angel answered him as his daughter snapped her wand back into her holster. “Besides, wands are a European machination; a lot of Native American and African magic is wandless.”

The young boy gave the man a dirty stare. How could he prepare himself to getting his mind wiped if he didn’t even get a warning?!

Suddenly, Angel began to laugh loudly. It wasn’t a soft laugh either, but a full-on tearful laughter. Sam looked up to see eyes looking down on them from the floating tables and chairs, while the brown-haired older man bent over, clutched his middle and continued to laugh loudly.  

“Father!” Mellissa snapped, dropping the broomstick and letting it float horizontally as she did so. “Stop it! You’re being rude!”

But her words didn’t seem to register with her father, who continued to laugh even as many eyes turned towards him. Mellissa sighed and then addressed Sam as she climbed on the broomstick. “Sit behind me, tuck your legs in, and hold on to my middle tightly.”

Sam eagerly nodded his head and tried to climb in behind her. Mellissa lowered the broom as much as she could so the young boy could climb easier. The preteen looked at the polished wood and hesitated for a moment before he tried to climb on it like he would a bicycle.

He was rather impressed with himself when he managed to settle himself on the broomstick from his first try.

Strangely it didn’t feel like he was sitting on a piece of carved wood. He repositioned himself and wriggled around, trying to figure it out. It was very comfortable, he realized; it was as if he was sitting on a fluffy cushion, or a soft bed.

He obediently wrapped his arms around the older witch’s waist and watched as the ground began to disappear from beneath him.

Mellissa’s flying was steady and stable, no sudden increase or decrease in speed but a slow and sure pace that comforted Sam, who had never experienced anything like this before, but disappointed him at the same time. If Angel Crowe was going to erase his memory of magic, he at least wanted to experience some form of magical excitement.

Maybe he should’ve ridden with the laughing man; he seemed the sort who’d think flying fast was funny.

“Maniacs!” Mellissa muttered, catching Sam’s attention. Suddenly the broom they were riding on took a sharp turn to the side, narrowly avoiding a pair of laughing boys as they raced each other to the bottom.

“Who let them pass their flying lessons?” She said and suddenly their broom began to gain speed. Mellissa maneuvered them to the side and Sam screeched loudly and gripped the broomstick tightly with his thighs, trying to steady himself as the world tilted to the right.

“What--?!” He tried to ask, but let out a surprised shout when two identical surges of air swept on each of their side. It was so close, he could almost feel something almost-papery touch his cheeks as they passed it.

When that moment passed, he was gripping Mellissa’s waist tightly. He could feel his heart beating against his chest and reverberating though the older woman. The young boy swallowed and tried to calm down.

“Watch where you’re going!” A voice shouted from below.

Sam looked down to see one of the two previously laughing boys shaking his fist at them. His tan skin was blotched red and his entire body was shaking. His friend seemed to be still dizzy from their near collision, going by the way how his head kept turning around.

The only thing that probably kept him from floating into a wall is the other boy’s hand around his arm.  

“This is not your broom-boarding park!” Mellissa said, her voice prim and curt. “Now go back to your parents before I find them and have a word about your dangerous flying!”

The blond boy huffed and turned to face his friend, whom Sam realized must be his brother; the two shared the same flaxen hair and a delicately round-button nose. The still cognizant boy began to guide his brother towards a table a little down below.

Watching the boy guide his brother down carefully made Sam want to turn to his right and share a joke with his brother. He almost turned his head when he remembered that Dean wasn’t here.

But that’s okay. Sam was ninety-nine point nine percent sure that Dean was back in town, waiting for him to come back.

They’ll be reunited soon, of that Sam was certain.

Mellissa’s pace slowed down and it became steady again. The ten years old sighed both in relief and slight sadness; what she just did was rather scary, but also very exciting. It was almost like that one and only time he and Dean rode a rollercoaster a couple of months ago, but much better.

This was more exciting. More scary too, but more exciting.

The broomstick came to a stop, and Sam found himself staring at a set of floating round table and three wooden chairs. He looked up and saw a domed ceiling full of actual, sparkling stars.

Then he looked down and realized that they were floating in front of the highest table in the tower and he was suddenly apprehensive about getting off the broom.

This might’ve not been as good idea as he first thought.

“Don’t fear, Sam. Just get down right here and you’ll be fine, you’ll see.” Mellissa tried to reassure him but Sam simply tightened his grip on the woman’s waist. It’s not that he didn’t believe her, but.

How could he be okay? The ground was so far away from him and the sky was so close!

The brown-haired witch sighed and the broomstick lurched as she brought it closer to the table, and Sam saw him come face to face with one of the chairs.

“Come on Sam. You’ll be fine, I promise. There is magic all over --” Mellissa suddenly stopped, and then twisted around to look at him directly in the eye, “I know it’s scary, believe me I know but _I_ won’t let you fall. I promise.”

The boy considered her words carefully. He’d known her for only a couple of short weeks, but he was already very comfortable around his savior. She was slightly awkward, yet she was also a straightforward and honest person. If she believed something was wrong, she’d say so.

If she made a promise, then she’d stick by her word.

Mellissa said that she wouldn’t let him fall and she promised. Sam needed to decide whether he could trust her to keep her word.

He looked at her brown eyes and swallowed deeply.

Sam didn’t want to get off the broom.

The witch sighed and began to straighten her posture. However she quickly twisted back again when she felt the broomstick straighten; she looked at him and Sam looked back, arms wrapped around the chair he was now sitting on.

Sam didn’t remember jumping, but he figured he must’ve.

The young witch smiled at him, and he gave her a shaky one back, doing his best not to look down. But that smile disappeared from his face as he watched her get off her broomstick and onto the empty air.

She was going to fall.

“Mellissa, no, don’t!” Sam said, clinging to the chair but still trying to jump out of it to stop the older woman from getting off the broomstick. Mellissa didn’t fall, and he watched in fascination as the older woman’s heels made contact with the air. Her shoes _click-clacked_ around as she made her way to the closest chair to his.

When she was in front of him, she stepped on the ground with the heel of her right shoe.

“There _are_ platforms under us.” She explained as she dragged her seat away from the table. “It’s hidden with invisibility spells, that’s all.”

Sam frowned, confused. “So the tables aren’t floating?”

“They used to be.” She replied, seating herself. “But there was an accident a couple of years ago and this was the best solution they came up with.”

She looked away and picked up the menu, and for a moment it was quiet. She then turned her head to look at Sam and said, “Listen Sam, I just want to tell you I am proud of you.”

“What?” He said, blinking at the unfamiliar words.

“It couldn’t have been easy; jumping off the broomstick when you thought there was nothing holding under you. I would’ve told you about the platforms, but at first you looked excited about the floating tables,”

“I was.” Sam confirmed quietly, feeling rather embarrassed about where this conversation was heading.

Mellissa laughed lowly, more of a breath of amusement than anything other else. “Yes, well, but then when I realized you were… uncomfortable, I wasn’t sure you’d believe me.”

He decided not to confirm her words this time, but put his head down onto the table to hide away his red face. His father would be so embarrassed with him; John always told him that he had to be brave and strong, like his brother Dean.

“I am sorry I put you through that.” She apologized, and Sam’s head snapped up, all embarrassment suddenly gone.

He shook his head, and stumbled over his words as he tried to say it all as quickly as he could. “You don’t have to say sorry!” He told her passionately. “It was fun! It was like – like nothing I’ve ever done before!”

And it was. It was scary, but now that he was sitting safely on his chair he could think back about how fun and strange and new it was, even though it was also slightly embarrassing too.

Mellissa might’ve said something, if her father’s loud voice didn’t suddenly interrupt them, “Are you both ready to order? By Merlin’s beard, I am starving!”

The man plopped himself to the chair in a manner that reminded Sam of Mellissa whenever she was feeling particularly tired.

His daughter rolled her eyes and handed Sam the menu. He watched as the pictures of the food moved around, dancing in the frame.

“Magic,” He whispered lowly, voice full of wonder.

*

Mellissa was starving.

Her appetite for lunch was soured when her father decided to talk about how unsuitable the Winchesters were to take care of Sam, if he was a wizard.

They each gave their orders to their server, Annabelle, and were currently passing the time in silence. For her part, she was desperately trying to make sure her stomach wouldn’t make any embarrassing noises in front of Sam or her father.

Morrigan, she really wanted to find a wall and smack her head against it; what right did she have to tell Sam she was proud of him? She wasn’t his mother, or his sister; she was barely his friend! The young woman massaged her temples as she thought about what she had done. She should have just apologized and closed the book on the situation!

Sam was quiet, and so was her father. It didn’t settle well with her how quiet the two were being; ever since she met him, Sam had been a chatterbox and her father, well, he liked the sound of his own voice a bit too much.

Was he reading Sam’s mind again?

She tried to take an indiscreet look at her father’s face. As usual, he wore a genial expression, an open smile spreading across his face. Sometimes, he’d show some tells when he wanted her to catch him using legilemency and sometimes he was as easy to read as a rock. Why her father acted like that was beyond her.

Her father’s mind worked in mysterious ways.

When she realized that her father’s face held no answers for her, her eyes traveled down to observe his hands. For a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to do anything, but his smallest left finger began to tap against the tap erratically.

There!

The witch began to pound against her father’s mental defenses, demanding to be let in. Without pausing his finger, or dropping his smile, he let her into his mind.

_‘Stop reading his mind. It’s rude.’_ She told him. _‘Besides, you taught me that it’s wrong to abuse legilemency, so why are you doing this?’_

_‘I will always hold you to a higher standard, my Justicia.’_ He instantly replied, as if he knew she was going to question him. _‘Besides, he’s a funny boy. The things that go through his head. Absolutely adorable.’_

Mellissa felt insulted on Sam’s behalf, and more than a little disturbed by those ‘standards’ her father held her accountable to. _‘He is not a toy you can play with, Father. Leave him the privacy of his thoughts.’_

She knew it was hypocritical of her to say that when she herself had invaded the boy’s mind not too long ago, but she had done a good job of not doing it again.

Thoughts are easy, words are hard, but trust is the hardest. Once lost it might never come back, and the thought of breaking Sam’s trust in her made her feel heavy and sick.

_‘He trusts you,_ ’ Her father suddenly told her. He must’ve sensed where her thoughts were heading. If she was any other person, she’d probably be offended at how easily he ignored her privacy, but she was Mellissa J. Crowe and she was his daughter; she was used to Angel A. Crowe’s blatant disregard for other people’s emotions. _‘He cares for you.’_

She chose to ignore him and instead observed Sam.

“Sam.” She said, prompting the boy to lift his head and face her. She could see, from the curve of his mouth and hunched shoulders that he was feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

“Yes Mellissa?” He asked, trying to ascertain what Mellissa wanted from him when she failed to continue speaking.

“I am sorry,” She said, rubbing the back of her neck and smiling as she did so. “I forgot what I wanted to say.”

She hadn’t really; she wanted to ask him what he was thinking about, if he liked the restaurant so far, if he was prepared to go to town and face the truth, whatever it was. But she realized that now wasn’t a good time to tell him anything. Despite his silence, he seemed to be in a good mood and she didn’t want to be the one to wreck it.

She’ll try to prepare him later, after they had their meal.

“So, what did you think of the books I’ve left you?” She asked him instead, trying to fill their uncomfortable silence. “Have you read The Misadventures of Morgan Leigh yet?”

The young boy immediately brightened up.

“She’s so awesome!” He gushed, practically vibrating in his seat as he talked about the fictional character. “I am on book two now!”

“Book two? Is that the one where she goes to a boarding school to find her missing father?” Mellissa said, her voice getting progressively louder as she joined Sam in his excitement.

“Yep!” Sam said and he wore a large smile. Mellissa’s own lips pulled up to mirror his. Then he frowned for a moment before he asked, “Does she defeat Professor Krane and find her father at the end?”

The young witch laughed, and she saw Annabelle approach them from the corner of her eye. Their food was floating behind her and the young witch noticed a familiar wooden stick on one of the trays.

“Spoilers, Sam. Read and you’ll find out!” She told him, even as she spoke to her father in her mind.

_‘I know your play.’_ She told him. _‘I know why you wanted to come with us, why you wanted us to have dinner here.’_

“But…” Sam protested, and he began to play with the complimentary napkin between his hands. He stole a look at her father and then quietly said, “What if I don’t get to read the rest?”

It was as if pieces of puzzle began to come together; somehow, someone told Sam what her father did for a living. He’s been scared and confused about what her father wanted from him and was anxious about losing his memory of magic.

She opened her mouth to reassure him that he would get to finish reading the series, but she was interrupted by their waitress. Annabelle placed their usual food in front of them, and then faced Sam with a bright smile.

“One Hamburg Steak for this fine young man,” She said, smiling toothily. Sam smiled shyly and opened her mouth, but was interrupted by Annabelle pulling out a miniature wand from behind her back and handing it to him. “And one First Time visitor special; your very own toy wand! Remember not to use it around No-Majs!”

Mellissa watched as Sam hesitated for a moment before he accepted the toy wand. Annabelle smiled again and asked if they needed anything. Before she could respond, her father dismissed the young woman politely.

“I wanted extra cheese...” She muttered to herself even as her father’s voice overpowered hers.

“Why don’t you wave that wand, Sammy my boy?” Her father asked, and Mellissa knew that she didn’t imagine the excitement that rolled off each word her father uttered. “Go on; these wands used to be Justicia’s favorite toy!”

Sam’s face reflected his inner struggles. “What if nothing happens?”

“Something always happens with these wands.” Her father claimed, lying through his teeth. These wands may be considered toys, but they are still made from wand wood and a magical core. It would be useless in the hands of a No-Maj.

Mellissa began, “Sam…”

But Sam did not hear her. Emboldened by her father’s words, Sam waved the wand. For a moment, nothing happened.

Mellissa’s words got stuck in her throat, and she felt as if she had swallowed a gallon of rocks. The young boy dropped his head and looked upset. When she saw his unhappiness, the young woman narrowed her eyes and glared at her father, promising him that vengeance was coming.

Sam waved it again, dejectedly.

“Sammy,” She tried.

But then, their table quaked, and she shrieked as she gripped the bottom of her seat. It shook and felt unstable, Mellissa tried to look down and she saw that the other tables are slightly farther away than they should be. She looked up, only to confirm that the sky was closer than it was a couple of seconds ago. Angel, on the other hand, seemed to find the whole thing funny.

“I think finishing your books wouldn’t be a problem, little Sam!” He said, clutching his stomach and uncaring about their wobbly situation. He slammed his fist on the table as he laughed, and Mellissa admired the strength of the sticking-charms they had on the table; none of their cutlery or food had moved or tipped over. “With magic like that, you’re going to be leaps and bounds ahead of your classmates in Ilvermorny!”

“W-what?” Sam asked, dropping the wand and desperately clutching the table in front of him. “I did this?!”

Angel pulled put his wand from its harness and waved it elegantly. The table gently floated down and settled. He then bent down and picked up the discarded toy-wand from the invisible platform below and he handed it back to Sam. The boy looked at the extended hand warily, before he raised a shaky hand and accepted the item.

“Yes, yes you did.” Her father said. “And don’t worry; they’ll teach you how to control your magic at Ilvermorny.”

“I… I am magic?” Sam asked with a frown. “And what’s Ilvermorny?”

The older man rubbed at his teary eyes, before he straightened himself and began to cut into his steak. Mellissa thought her father wasn’t going to answer, so she parted her lips to begin to speak but her father beat her to it.

“The correct term is Wizard, but yes you’re ‘magic’.” Her father stated, and Mellissa could hear the self-satisfaction dropping from each word he uttered. “And Ilvermorny – it’s only the best Magic school in all the world!”

“Many will say that about their own school.” Mellissa pointed out, not wanting her father to corrupt Sam into that sort of thinking; each school had its strength and weakness. Declaring one school as best was both factious and incorrect.

Still, it would be a lie to say that she didn’t have a warm spot for Ilvermorny in her heart.

“Which schools? Hogwarts? Hogwash. Beauxbatons? Too flashy. Durmstrang? They feed them too much potato.” Her father said, and Mellissa would have scolded him for his rude behavior but her thoughts were not in a different place.

Sam had used a toy wand to levitate the table and the chairs. The fact he was able to use the wand without it backfiring proved that he was a wizard, but how did Sam manage to direct his magic using such a weak medium? Toy wands were designed to be safe for toddlers and children to use; a practice tool for correct forms and a source for entertainment. Each wand was manufactured with a block of some sort to curtail the amount of magical energy that went through it, in order to ensure the safety of the child.

The most a wand like that could do is make some pretty light shows, or perform small transformations. The only way Sam could have levitated the heavy table is if his magic was too much, too powerful, for the block to resist. It would explain why nothing happened the first time Sam waved the wand; his magic probably fried the block, which allowed his second attempt to succeed.

The slight woman began to eat her food, but maintained a close eye on her father and Sam and refrained from commenting too much as her father drew Sam deeper and deeper into their world with his words.

*

John did not have the time for this.

He had to get back on the road, get to Lawrence as quickly as he could. He had to find Missouri, he had to find _Sammy_.

The man struggled against the bonds keeping him down. He was just leaving the diner – how did he end up here? John saw some movement to the side and shot Dean a frantic look, desperately willing him awake.

But his oldest son only grumbled lowly, before he settled back into soundless sleep.

“Dean!” He whispered loudly, moving a leg to try and kick the boy awake. All the while, he did not stop pushing his hand against the tight ropes. He could feel his wrists chafing, his skin getting dryer and flimsier as he rubbed against the fibers furiously.

He didn’t have time for this. He needed to find Sam, wake Dean, get to Missouri, _find Sammy_.

He stilled when the old door creaked open. He gave Dean one last kick, before he straightened his back and looked at the face of their assailant. The man was large and well-built, stocky but muscular. His face was a mess of scars and hairs, and John could barely make out the man’s face from in-between that unkempt mane.

“You killed them.” The man accused, or rather, slurred. His shoulders were slumped as he stumbled towards them, and John could see that his hands were trembling. The tied-up man scowled in disgust; how could such a man get the drop on both him and Dean?

If it wasn’t his smell, then his obvious drunkenness should have put him on either or both of their radar. Briefly, John wondered if he and his son had seen this man before.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” John said, rolling his shoulders. “It’s just me and my son here—”

“Yeah, you and _your son_.” The man sneered. He managed to walk even closer towards them, and the ex-marine had to resist every urge he had to headbutt the man or turn around and throw up. “Didn’t you have two of those?”

John stilled.

Then, it was as if someone had lit a fire under him. His struggles were doubled and he pushed himself off the floor, slamming his head against the other man’s with a loud roar leaving his lips.

“Don’t you dare talk about Sammy, you freak!”

The man fell gracelessly on the floor, and the restrained man thought he had somehow managed to knock his kidnapper out. But the shaggy man twitched and pushed himself off the floor, only managing to roll away from John’s trajectory when the other man launched himself at him.

John cursed as he fell on the floor. Apparently, the rope that was tied to his wrist was also tied to the floor. How could he have missed this?

The kidnapper began to laugh mirthlessly.

“Oh?” He said, voice thick with melancholy and hysteria. “Did you do it? Did you kill your precious little Sammy? Like you killed my Stefan and Rose?”

John snarled, the sound animalistic but wounded at the same time. He wanted to reach out and wrap his hands around the man’s throat. This little bastard didn’t know what he was talking about. He _couldn’t_ know what he was talking about.

The man sat straight and looked at John in the eyes. “You did, didn’t you? You killed Sammy when you found out the truth – when you learned what he was. When you learned that he was a _freak_ , like my Rose. Like my son, Stefan.”

“Listen, you little shit,” John said, panting and trying to see through the haze of red. His wrists ached, and he could feel blood flowing down his hands. “My son isn’t dead, and we haven’t hunted any ‘Stefan’ or ‘Rose’, do you understand? Now let us go!”

The man ignored John’s demand, but that was alright with the trapped man. He didn’t want this _dog_ to let him out; he’ll break out and he’ll kill the man with his own hands. It will be bloody, it will be glorious, and most of all it will be _satisfaction_.

 “Heheheheeee.” The man laughed, sounding demented. John’s wrists were now _burning_ but he kept struggling, kept trying to free himself. “You did didn’t you? You killed him! You couldn’t protect your baby boy, didn’t you?”

John’s blood was a thick, slippery thing between his wrists and he managed to slip his hands out from in between the fibers.

He launched himself at the man again, this time intent on wringing his neck with his own hands.

But the man just laughed, deranged, and with the sharp sound of a backfiring engine ringing in the air, he disappeared. John crashed onto the floor, but he didn’t bother with the pain. Instead, the sound was echoing in his mind as if someone had taped it and put it in repeat.

That sound.

That sound.

He assumed that Sam had ran fast and into the forest, where he met his attacker. But what if his little boy hadn’t ran? What if something had come and snatched him? Something that could teleport from one place to another with a shocking, cutting sound?

John turned to face his still-sleeping eldest. He didn’t try to shake him awake. He didn’t speak to him; he just lifted his boy into his arms and began the slow trek out and into civilization.

He’ll find Sammy, and he’ll save their family.

John owed that much to Mary and their little boys.

 


End file.
